Dec 3, 2012

An Oregon Welcome

What stands out most about what happened that soggy afternoon is not the vigor with which she grabbed the fly... which is surprising. Nor does the sight of her mirroring flanks writhing above the river dominate my memory or even the way she dug her chin into the deep green ribbon while my rod could bend no further.

One minute my fly was swinging and then it stopped.

That’s what happened. That’s what finally happened. It had been a while because when I left Oregon I could no longer walk to a river where these fish swim. My rods got smaller and the fish got smaller, which evened out I suppose, to a degree, but still there are days when it’s not so balanced and it takes stepping into a steelhead river to recalibrate.

Maybe you know about this.

In Portland, the air was wet when we stepped from the plane. And then later, walking up the railroad bed the dirt was swollen around the ties. A soft mist lingered beyond the passing downpour. The river was green as was the forest which lay over heavy and full.

Funny that what stands out most about what happened is the hook. Not really the shape or the material or the way it glinted as it hung from her lip. What is amazing is how easily it slipped free of her jaw, like it had been only clinging to air. Just barely was it stuck there which makes me think about how barely and delicate it all can be that keeps moments like these together.

Have a good time,
Duffy & The Gorge Fly Shop


  1. Nice Fly, What one is that... ;-)

  2. much thanks to you Erick for the fly. great tie - really dances and lights up in water!


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